


Always You

by webbo



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, F/M, Ficlet, Hurt/Comfort, Lost on a Planet, Romance, Whump, mature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-05-31 02:16:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6451501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webbo/pseuds/webbo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Jack lost on a planet, watching each other.</p>
<p>*Nominated for 2016 Sam and Jack Awards Best Angst and Best Mature & webbo as Best author.  Vote at samandjackawards.com</p>
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</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

She watches him in the woods. He’s turned sideways, his left hand large on the bark of a giant tree, his right hand in constant movement somewhere else. She was shocked when she first walked onto the scene. He was so preoccupied with his activity that his previous expertise of sound-hearing and danger-awareness disappeared in this obviously private moment. She stood frozen at first, then, hid behind another giant tree. This planet was full of them, the giants being surrounded by lush forests, lagoons, and a broken DHD. It had been three months on this world, living together in the abandoned farm house, just the two of them, waiting to be rescued, surviving on the fruit from the farm gardens and the small animals they were able to catch in the forests and lagoons. She watches him now, hidden behind the tree… mesmerized by his movements, his sounds, his grunts. She cannot stop watching his face, the way the hard planes of his cheekbones contract, the way his eyes are shut, the way his hand moves on the parts of him she can’t stop staring at. She turns back and hides completely behind the tree, hearing as he finishes. She swallows and quietly escapes her hiding place, making her way towards their house, her legs soaked from the effects of watching him, her heart beating fast in her chest.


	2. Chapter 2

He creeps up the sturdy steps of the farmhouse to their room.  It’s a small house, a large kitchen in the bottom floor features a full bathtub, a detail Jack can never quite get used to.  There is nothing else on the bottom floor, nothing but the large kitchen, its bathtub, and a table fit for two.  The upstairs is their room, and the stairs lead straight to it.  There is no door and only one bed, and from the beginning they’ve been sharing, because neither he nor she really wanted the other to sleep on the hard floor of the kitchen. He feels light on his feet as he goes up, his spirits and constitutions improved from his release in the woods; his mood slightly more fare than his grumpy “we’re still lost on this damn planet” demeanor. 

He freezes three-fourths of the way up when he hears a moan.  It’s Sam’s moan, he knows, so he’s not afraid of danger, but he’s yet to determine what the moan is for, so he waits and tilts his head to attune his hearing to her voice.  A sigh, and the sound of a wet smack.  He now knows exactly what’s happening even if he can’t see it.  But he wants to see it, and he can’t keep his rebellious feet from climbing that last step and looking in.  She’s kneeled in front of the large window and not on the bed as he expected.  This throws him off a bit, and he shifts to remain unseen.  Her back is to him though, directly in front of him.  She’s on her knees, looking out the window, and he momentarily has the thought that maybe he misjudged the situation and that she’s just nature-watching.  She moves her hips and her head falls forward onto her left arm which is resting on the window seal and supporting her upper body.  She moans again and Jack notices her right arm is not resting on the window seal.  He’s not exactly sure, but he knows it’s in front of her.  By the looks of her skirt, her hand is in it, and he can’t stop himself from noticing that again, she’s on her knees.  The position is significant for Jack, but he doesn’t know why.  He knows it’s erotic, but to see Sam on her knees and the room filled with the sounds of her sighs and the unmistakable wet smacking that can only be coming from the friction her hand is creating on the parts of herself Jack has never seen is more than he can bear.  She’s moving now, her hips going forward and back, up and down, and Jack can’t help but keep up with her every effort and every sound.  He’s mesmerized by her, aroused all over again, ready to keep this voyeuristic experience in his mind for always.  But then she bucks her hips and says, “Jack”.  It’s whispered and quiet, but he hears it nonetheless.   He knows she’s said his name; that it’s him in her mind making her wild, and then he watches as she bucks one last time and groans lowly, a slow groan as her head is buried in the crook of her arm.  

He turns to walk down but then hears her gasp.  He turns quickly and locks his eyes with hers.  She’s shocked to see him there, her neck and checks are red, though Jack doesn’t know if it’s from embarrassment or simply from her release.  She quickly pulls her hand out of her skirt and stands, moving away from the window.

“How long have you been there?” she says, her voice a tremble.

 

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

“How long have you been there?” she says, her voice a tremble.

He sighs and wants to disappear.  “I’m sorry.”

“How long?” she repeats, her back turned to him as she adjusts her clothing further.

He sighs again and comes up the steps the rest of the way to be fully in the room.  “Long enough," is his reply.

She releases a long breath and shakes her head.  Then she turns and sits on the only chair in the room and buries her face in her hands.  “I thought you were in the woods,” she says, and looks up at him.  “I was watching to see when you’d come in,” she points to the window, the spot where she was before.  “I didn’t see you come in.”

He walks to the window and looks out.  In front of the window is the sight of the forest, the one where he was before he came home, the path in the grass outlined towards the farmhouse.

“I’m sorry.  I came down that path,” he coughs uncomfortably and points.  “Maybe your eyes were closed when I walked up.”

She colors again as he says that, and he feels like an ass.

“Look,” he says, “you have a right to privacy without having to watch out for when I’ll be walking home…” he looks straight at her, “maybe we can come up with a—”

“I saw you in the woods,” she interrupts him.

He’s shocked, but he doesn’t quite know what to say.  There’s a moment of silence and then he says, “Hum, what?”

“I saw you in the woods,” she says again, uncomfortably.

His eyes bulge at the confirmation.  “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”  She’s been on this damn planet for too long, with no one else to talk to and no means of rescue.

His eyes bulge even more now and he has a scared, childlike look on his face.

“I saw you, you know…” Sam says while gesturing towards nothing. 

In the absence of anything to say, Jack goes and sits on the bed.  He’s more confused and shocked than embarrassed and they’re both sitting now.

“Did you watch?” He asks while looking at her.

They stare at each other.

“Yes.”

“Hmmm.  Oooookay…”  Jack says, because he has no idea what else to say.

Sam gives him an annoyed look, and Jack is confused.  “Humph.  You just watched too!” She accuses him.

His eyes go down, “I know… I’m sorry!”

“No, I’m sorry,” Sam says, her mind wandering to the scene of Jack in the woods.

He stops for a moment and looks up at her.  “Is that why you came home and…”  he gestures to the window.

“Hmm… yes? No?  I don’t know,” Sam answers, disgruntled and embarrassed.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“This is awkward,” Jack says.

“Ya think?” Sam answers, looking down.

There is silence for a moment, until he asks, bluntly: “Is it always me?”

She looks up sharply and stares at him.  “What?” She looks genuinely confused, so Jack has some pity. 

“Hum… when you… he gestures to the window vaguely… you said my name… you know.. is it always me?”

She blushes again and turns her head.  “Can we not do this?”

“Is it?” Jack asks again, unmoved.

She stands and faces him.  “What do you think? After the year we’ve had? Who else would it be?” She’s yelling now and he knows exactly what she’s talking about.  The eyes, the touches, the dying, the za’tarcs and the damn room with all their secrets.  They’re silent for a while, just staring at each other, just remembering the year, and the woods, and the window with the kneeling.

“So what do we do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does anything change?”  They’re not even sure who is asking the questions and answering, but they know this is an issue, so they try to speak to each other.

“How can it?” Sam says, “We need to get rescued… I told you there is nothing I can do about that DHD – it’s completely—”

“That’s now what I mean,” Jack interrupts.  “I mean about this, about what just happened.”

“What just happened,” she parrots.

“Yes.  We just watched each other – you know… “ he gestures again towards the window, but he notices that Sam doesn’t look as red.  Perhaps she’s becoming used to the idea, to the situation…

“Yes, I know,” she says.   “Let’s just give it a day, okay?  Give me a little time.”

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I didn’t respect your privacy,” Jack says.

Sam looks at him, and her eyes turn soft.  “It’s ok.  I’m sorry I didn’t respect yours.”

“Ok.”

“Ok.”

“Just one more thing,” Jack says as he gets up off the bed and walks towards her.  Her hands are hugging herself and he reaches for her right arm.  Bringing her right hand to him, he maneuvers her fingers so that her middle finger is sticking out.  She’s not quite sure what is happening until he takes her middle finger in his mouth.  She sucks in her breath because he’s not just sucking on her finger, he’s tasting her, the remnants of her, and she can’t quite believe the last hour of her life.  He hums appreciatively as he removes the finger from his mouth and curls her hand up where it was.  He moves closer, very close, and lays a gentle kiss on her forehead.  He leans down and whispers in her ear.  “Just so you know… you’re always, _always_ , the one who helps me find release.”

He turns and walks down the steps, slowly, calmly. 

She’s left alone in the room, trembling. It’s ironic and funny and sad all at the same time.  They’re sexual partners and have been for a while, just unbeknownst to each other, until now.  Sam is left dumbfounded.  She doesn’t know what the future will hold for her, or for them. She can see him in the woods and she wants to experience that man, that scene for herself.  There’s a battle for propriety and reality and humanity that won’t end its war until something is won.  She wonders if her happiness might finally be the bridge that wins, that lasts, and that survives.  She’s a woman that has just discovered that she’s also the image of his every dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. Who wants to finish this? Anybody? Send me an email. Seriously. xoxo


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The next few days are awkward and irritating.  The tension is unbearable, and they’ve somehow decided not to talk about it, so the ‘what ifs’ just hang in the air as they hunt, and fish, and wash their peasant clothes together.  They keep their distance if they can, but from sundown to sun-up they are both in the house, at the same time, and the sexual frustration is palpable in the air.  They had a great friendship before this happened, before they watched each other rub their own sensitive places with their own hands.

It’s after a particularly shitty hunting trip when it all falls apart.  She had been lying low, distracted by the change in their peaceful relationship, when a snake, larger than any animal they’ve seen on the planet, gets a hold of Sam.  Jack is pale as he runs back to their farm house, Sam cradled tight in his arms.  She had tried to get loose from his hold, but quit after he lashed out and said, “Shut it, Major.”  There is blood on her pants, her old BDU’s that she wears when they hunt, and Jack is mortified at the thought of Sam being hurt, of the snake having poisoned her. 

In the safety of their home, he drops her onto one of the kitchen chairs and goes back to secure that the door is locked, as best it can be.  He runs back to her and she can see that he is terrified, scared out of his mind of what might have happened, so she doesn’t object when he stands her briefly to remove her pants.  There are two gaping holes in one of her thighs, from the snake’s fangs, and Jack pales further at the sight.  He grabs the bucket from the counter, the one full of fresh water, and douses her thigh in it.  The blood runs off and before she can examine the holes, his mouth is on her thighs, sucking hard on her flesh.  She yelps and grabs at his hair, his head, his ears, trying to make him stop.  He lifts his head and spits to the side, only to return and start sucking on the next hole.  Sam knows the snake wasn’t poisonous, that it had bitten her to control her body into submission, that the giant snake’s purpose had been to eventually crush her bones and eat her for dinner.  She repeats that she’s fine, that the snake wasn’t poisonous, that she’s okay, but Jack looks dazed and terrified, so she lets him keep sucking at the painful wounds on her thighs.  She has the momentary thought that if they don’t go back and collect the large and now dead snake for their dinner, that Jack will have wasted five bullets and those bullets are now quite sparse. 

He lifts his head, spits again, and examines her thighs.  They’re red and swollen, but not black, there are no signs that her flesh is dying.  He looks up at her face, at her eyes, and his right hand is already at her wrist, taking her pulse.  He’s totally focused, she knows, examining her for symptoms that might kill her.  His eyesight travels to her collar bone and she knows his next move will be to examine the first nip the snake took.  She lets him take her shirt off, ignores the way her sports bra is filthy and smelly, and lets him look her over.  The snake never really punctured her upper body, just left huge bruises where her strong jaws grabbed Sam and maneuvered her to the floor.  He’s bothered that the sports bra covers so much of the bruised area, starts trying to tug at it from the collar bone, so she shrugs and initiates removing the item, letting him be comfortable enough to know that she’s still whole, still alive, after the giant snack attack.  He prods at the bone and she yells that it’s not broken, just bruised.

She’s exhausted and sore so she lets him take over the bra removal.  The dirty piece of fabric is barely over her head when she hears him swear.  She looks at his face and knows that the curse was because he’s just seen her breasts for the first time, and not from the giant bruise from the snake bite.  She looks down herself and can’t quite believe the size of the snake’s mouth, wonderers how she is still alive, how lucky she is that the alien species had retractable fangs.  There are two small holes near the place where the soft skin of her breasts start, but nowhere near as deep as the holes on her thighs, and one hole has barely broken the skin.  She thinks he won’t, but then she’s wrong because his mouth is on her, sucking at the marks anyway.  She’s in pain, but the place where his mouth is and the position they are in, her naked and him on his knees, is erotic, even if she’s considerably injured.  He spits again and when he gets up, she can see he’s affected too.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks as he walks along her back and looks at the bite from the other side. 

She nods and says, “Yes.  Hurts…stings...  I’m just a little frazzled.”

He nods also, content with his examination, and grabs her discarded shirt from the floor.  He places it on her front, around her breasts, shielding them from his view, and she’s grateful for the cover.   The next thing she knows, he has his gun strapped to his chest again, and a bucket in his hand.  He opens the door, carefully, and scans the horizon, just in case a snake revenge is on the rise.  In the months they’ve been stranded, they hadn’t seen any predators, and Sam is a little relieved that now they know that there actually is one out there.  She knows what he’s going to do, so she gets up and lights the kindling for the stove.  He comes back in with a bucket of water and takes over her task, directing her back to the chair.  She’s pretty much in shock and lets him take over, filling two of their largest pans with water, then dumping another full bucket into the large bathtub that still sits in the middle of the kitchen.  While the water boils he runs upstairs, to their room, and quickly comes back with one of their packs.  It’s the one that contains the med kit, she knows, and she watches as he pulls the kit out and lays it on her lap, near her panties and bare thighs, with the gaping holes and all. 

“I don’t think we should use the—”

“We’re using the antibiotic, Sam,” Jack says looking up at her, then looking back down at the kit.  “There’s no way in hell you’re getting bitten by an alien snake and me NOT using the antibiotic that may save your life.”

“It’s the only one we have!”

“YOU’RE the only one _I_ have!  We’re using it!”

She humphs and he ignores her, finally locating the other thing he’s looking for: the pouch of antimicrobial powder.  It’s a pouch in powder form, and Jack knows it’s going to hurt.  She sees it and her face crumbles.

“Don’t use the Arglaes powder,” she says weakly.  “Please.”

Jack sighs.  There’s nothing he can do about it, and she knows this is how it has to go down.  He thinks her begging is a cheap shot after everything they’ve just been through… her being attacked, him watching.  He sees the water beginning to boil and dumps it in the tub, followed by the next pot of water.  He quickly fills them back up, and the wood stove is burning so hot, he knows it won’t take the next batch of pans long to heat up.  He looks at her and she knows what’s next.

Sam sighs and nods at Jack, who has just finished pouring two more buckets of tepid water into the tub.  She’s still holding the shirt to her breasts when he comes near.  He looks again at her thighs, studying the gaping holes made by the alien snake.

“Are you ready?” he asks her.

“Just do it, Jack,” she says.  He purses his lips and nods, because really, who the hell cares about honorifics anymore?  They’re at the end of their rope, millions of lightyears from home, naked and injured, and needing each other more than ever.  He tears the pouch as quickly as he can, and holds her thigh steady with his left hand.  He follows her thigh up to her crotch, and he can’t help to notice that her underwear is black, and that her pubic hairs look wild and overgrown, escaping from the sides of her underwear near her thighs. 

“Jack!” he hears, and he realizes she knows what he’s looking at, and that now is not the moment to realize that she’s not had a razor, just like him, and that her personal hygiene is about as unkempt as his.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and pours the powder first in one wound, then the other.

“Ahhhhh!!!” She yells, obviously in pain, then bites her bottom lip to keep quiet, turning her face.

He tightens his hold on her thigh, until her face stops contorting and her breathing evens out.

“Sam, what’s your pain level?” he asks.

She grunts.  She knows that her answer will determine how much pain meds she gets, how much pain meds _gets used._   “Five,” she answers, weakly.

“Five,” Jack repeats.  “That means at least a ten for you.”

She wants to protest, but she can’t, because at the moment, the pain is excruciating.

He gets out the pain meds.  “We have morphine, naproxen or ibuprophen.”

“Ibuprophen will do,” she says in a convincing tone.

“Naproxen it is,” he says, taking two pills out and laying them on her outstretched palm.  He knows the fact that she even stretched her arm out to receive them means she’s in significant pain.  The second set of pans is boiling and he pours them into the tub, then, unceremoniously reaches for the t-shirt covering her breasts, and tugs it away.  He picks her naked form up, gently, and lowers her onto the tub.  She sighs as she makes contact with the warm water, and he finally lets go of her.  She tries to stretch out her leg, but he doesn’t let her, keeping her open wounds above the level of the water. 

She didn’t realize how dirty she had been, how much the damn snake had the time to thrash her about.  She realizes the reason he won’t let her leg fall into the water is that the open wounds could get infected by all the dirt coming off her own body.  She sighs and takes over holding her leg at an angle while he runs upstairs again for whatever it is he still needs.  He comes back with the last of their bar soap, and she doesn’t protest when he starts to wash her.  He begins with her hair, and she’s never used their precious bar of soap on her hair, so it feels wonderful when he lathers her golden head and works the foam into her scalp.  A moan escapes her and he freezes and she knows what an idiot she is.  She’s almost completely naked in their bathtub, the one in the middle of their kitchen, while he washes her hair.  It’s been less than a week since he’s heard her moan.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“Yeah, sure,” is his answer, as he resumes his washing. 

She’s attentive not to make any more noise, even when she opts to wash her breasts herself but can see that he’s watching, lets him pour water over them to rinse.  He washes everything, her back, her legs, her stomach.  He reaches under the water and tugs her underwear down, lets her lift her hips as he removes the black panties first from the injured leg, then the other.  He offers her the tiny sliver that is left of the soap and she accepts it gladly, making a lather on her right hand then diving into the water, washing her vulva as he watches her face.   He licks his lip, takes what’s left of the soap and rinses it with clean water from the pot of boiled water.  He lathers his hand again, and she’s so uncertain what his next move will be that her eyes widen.  He washes her wounds one last time, the ones on her thighs, not her soul, and she’s so shocked his hand isn’t at her core that the pain isn’t as significant, or perhaps the naproxen is working after all.  He pours more water over her, then, lifts her in his arms, ignoring the fact that her body is soaking him in water, ignoring her wet, naked body altogether.

He carries her upstairs and when they get to the room, Sam can see that he’s laid their large kitchen tablecloth on the bed and he sits her on it, wrapping the tablecloth around her like a towel, covering her nakedness.  He grabs her peasant skirt and dries her hair with it.  Sam is starting to feel loose, feel warm, and she wants to lie down.

“Sam?”

She flinches, and looks around the room to find him.  He’s on her side of the room, looking through her things.  “What’s your pain level?” she hears him ask.

She blinks twice.  “One.”

He narrows his eyes and nods.  “Do you have another pair of underwear, or just that one?”  They’ve been washing clothes together, and he’s washed her shirts before, but never her underwear; Sam washes her underwear every night after dinner, and hangs it somewhere mysterious in the house to dry.

She shakes her head and says, “No.”

He stops what he’s doing and looks up at her.  This means he’s slept every night next to her and she’s been… he coughs and wills his body to remember what he’s doing.  He takes her peasant nightgown and walks over to his side of the room, picking up his extra pair of boxers, clean from the previous washing and walks over to her. 

Sam sees him come near him and kneel in front of her.  The med kit is now laying at her foot, but she doesn’t remember how it got there.  He opens the cloth around her lower body a bit to expose her wounds.  He sees her, all of her, the overgrown pubic hair and the perfectness that is Samantha Carter.  He bites his lower lip, and Sam thinks that might be a mannerism he’s picked up from her.  He brings the ointment from the med kit and smears it on her thigh wounds while she sucks in air quickly.  He wraps her thigh in the only gauze and wound bandage they have, then, takes the syringe labeled antibiotic.

“Arm?”  he asks her, because she’s really the medical expert of the group.

“Ass,” she answers quickly, her eyes clouding with exhaustion.

He stands and takes her nightgown, a white one-piece shirt that reaches her knees, and places it over her head, letting the tablecloth fall away, and lifting her arms through the holes of the nightgown.  When she’s mostly covered, he tells her she can lie down, and she’s so tired she just wants to fall back and fall asleep, wherever she is.  He sees her plan, so he takes her in his arms, again, and lays her head on her pillow, stretches her body on her good side, on the recovery position, and goes around to his side of the bed.  He lifts her gown up, exposing her backside to him.  She’s perfect in a way he always imagined she’d be, smooth and delicate.

“Where, Sam?”

She lowers her right arm to her butt, near her hip and he immediately plunges the needle in the exact location.  She hisses and moans lowly as he injects the painful lifesaver.  “I’m sorry,” he says, as he removes the needle and covers her perfect body back up.  He gets off the bed and starts to collect his thoughts, his things.  He looks down and she’s peaceful in their bed, her eyes closed.  He goes downstairs to check the door, to check his house.  The door is locked and there are no giant snakes in sight.  He notices the bathtub, still full of water, and looks down to notice his own filth.  He sheds his clothing quickly and gets into the water, washing the dirt off his own body with the water that washed Sam’s.  He goes upstairs, naked, and remembers the pair of boxers he was going to offer Sam laying on the floor.  He puts it on and even though Sam looks good, looks safe, there’s an uneasy feeling in the uncertainty of what might have happened, in what might still happen in the unknown effects of the snake bite.

He lies down next to her and he can tell that while she’s very quiet, she’s not asleep.

“Jack?” she whispers weekly.

“Yes?” he answers, scooting closer.  “What is it? What do you need?” he touches her face and moves a few blond strands from her face.

“Thank you for saving me.”

He looks at her, her eyes still closed.  All he did was kill the snake; he hadn’t thought of it as saving her.  “You scared the shit out of me, Carter.”

“You know, it’s funny,” she says in a groggy voice.  “I finally got snaked again and it wasn’t even a Goa’uld.”

Jack laughs and moves in closer to her body.  She hums and moves her back some on the bed so that her body is touching his.  He snakes his hand through her middle and hugs her body close to his, laying a kiss on her head.  She breathes in a few times and then relaxes against him.

“Don’t leave me,” she says, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“Never happening, Carter,” he answers.

“This won’t help our situation,” she whispers yet again.

“You being injured is not—”

“Not that,” she interrupts him and clears her throat weakly, “seeing me naked… washing me… sucking my skin…” she finishes and can feel his lower body move a bit.

He grunts.

“It won’t help the tension,” Sam says, licking her lips.  Maybe the cocktail of antibiotic and pain meds are making her loose, free.

“At least we’re finally talking about it.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, swallowing and nodding.

“Just because I want you doesn’t mean I can have you, Sam.”

There’s an expanding feeling in her chest even as she feels lightheaded.

“I’m done waiting to be rescued, Jack,” she confesses as she links her fingers with his, and she doesn’t believe for a minute that what he’s just said makes any sense.  She hears a long exhale from him, near her neck, and it’s exactly the comfort she needs.  He kisses her hair because he needs that too.

“You’re beautiful,” he confesses.

Her dull eyes open briefly and there’s a miniscule smile.

“Think I’ll live?” she asks, and she’s half serious about not knowing.

“You have to live,” she hears the stress in his voice and feels the way his pulse quickens.

They stop talking for now, and she drifts off as he keeps watch over the room, their house, and her life.

 

**For the fangirls on the Sam/Jack Fic Club on Twitter, you know who you are ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

_The snake hisses at him and he doesn’t understand why or how the snake is capable of making such an audible sound, the snakes on Earth don’t hiss this loudly.  He’s out of bullets, looks down and realizes the gun isn’t even strapped to his chest, wonders how he could be so unprepared.  Sam’s unconscious body lies between him and the snake, and he lunges forward because he’s damned if the snake is going to win this.  Besides being his Major, his team mate, she’s more now, she’s his purpose now, to keep her alive and fed and well, and to get her rescued off this planet.  But he’s wrong about his chances, the battle is already lost as the snake uses her massive tail, heavy and spiked, and whacks him straight across the middle, his air lost, his stomach feeling crushed.  He’s down, and when he raises his eyes, all he sees is the snake slithering away, Sam clutched like a prize, spiraled tightly in the snake’s long body._

Jack shoots up and draws in as much air as he can manage.  He looks around furiously, confused by his location, by the darkness, by the quiet.  He places himself quickly, he’s at the farmhouse, in his room, the room he shares with Sam.  He looks down at himself, feels how he is covered in sweat and notices his breathing, how his chest won’t stop moving, his lungs sucking in breath after breath, his heart beating faster than it should.  He looks to the side, at the bed, but his eyes are still adjusting to the darkness, willing the small bit of moonlight streaming in from the window to shine brighter.  He blinks a few times and sees her, laying there on the bed.  She’s so still he doesn’t know if it was a dream and that she’s not really there, of if the dream was real, and she’s dead, her body recovered from the snake, but now lifeless before him. 

His desperation and confusion take over, and he’s down and next to her, skimming his hands along her body, feeling that she is real, that she is here.  It’s not a mirage, but he still can’t see her move, doesn’t trust that she’s alive.  He listens but all he can hear is the hammering of his own heart.  He puffs out air and the despair at the thought of her being dead undoes him, his hand goes to her face, tries to feel her breath.  He snuggles in as close as he can and brings his head into her neck, places his lips at her pulse point, his mouth open, his body still, his hand at her chest trying to feel if it will move.  Finally, he feels the faintest pressure at his lips, the movement of blood through her neck that indicates to him her heart is still beating.  His arms move, minimally, and he can feel that it’s her lungs drawing air.

The relief washes over him, and he feels like a child, overcome with emotions and gratitude that he imagined the whole thing, that the snake taking Sam was a nightmare.  He’s angry, tired of this planet, done with the whole ordeal.  He wants to pick her up and carry her to the Stargate, dial it and step through to another planet, any planet, but they can’t.  The DHD won’t work and the Stargate seems stuck, unmovable even by hand.  This is their home now; this is their reality.  He needs to conserve what little sanity he has left to nurse her back to health, to nurse her into his heart.  He doesn’t register that his heart is already hers, that she owns it, and doesn’t need an entrance pass.

He forgets that he’s still kissing her neck, his lips open and his tongue occasionally moving over her soft skin, but there’s a moment when he’s forced to remember, because he suddenly feels her breathing change, and senses her hand come up to hold his head in place.

“Jack?” she asks groggily.  She’s the one that is partially drugged and injured, but she knows exactly where she is, knows exactly what might be going on.  She can feel him tense against her neck, can feel that his body is on high alert, breathing rapidly, edgy and uncontrolled.  She threads her hand through his hair and feels him exhale a shuddering breath on her neck that makes her goose bump all over.  “Jack?” she has to ask again, and she caresses his head with the fingers that are threaded in his hair, her other hand pulling him tighter against her front.

After a moment, she starts to feel unsure, and she tugs at his hair a bit, gets him to pull up enough that she can see his eyes through the darkness in their room.  They look panicked and she moves her hand from his hair to his cheek, cupping his face tenderly. 

“What happened?” she whispers.

His unfocused eyes turn and lock onto hers.  There’s a minute where he roams her face with his eyes, looks back into her depths, enjoys the feel of her hand on his face.  “Tell me,” he hears her say.

“I dreamt,” he starts but has to stop, his eyes closing and another breath puffing out in a desperate way.  Her hand moves back and forth, her thumb caressing the soft skin below his eye, letting him tell her whatever hell he’s just been through.

“I dreamt you were gone,” he gets out, and when he opens his eyes, she can’t believe the real pain she sees there.  “I dreamt the snake took you, dragged you away,” he’s speaking quickly, “took you and I couldn’t get you, I couldn’t… I couldn’t!”

“Jack!” She takes both her hands now, one on either side of his face, and directs him to look at her.  “Jack, look at me!”

He pauses in his panic and looks at her again, confirms that she’s there. 

“I’m right here,” she says.  “I’m right here.”

He nods but doesn’t look any calmer, any less desperate. 

“You saved me, remember?  You killed the snake and you brought me home,” she recounts, looking into his eyes, his soul.  “You picked me up and bandaged my wounds.  You killed the snake,” she says again, “and I’m right here.”

He nods, his own hand moving to cup her face the way she’s cupping his.

“I’m right here, I feel fine,” she says, moving her injured leg.  She flinches, involuntarily, but says quickly.  “It’s just sore now, I’m going to be fine.”

“Don’t leave me,” he says, and Sam can’t quite believe that her confident, strong commanding officer is showing this much vulnerability, this much inner despair.

“I won’t,” she answers firmly.  “I won’t leave you.”

“I need you,” he reveals, his heart open before her for the first time since she’s known him.  His eyes finally still, his honesty a bold banner in a situation that’s been fucked up for four long months, a relationship marred with intense feelings and incessant sexual tension for four long years.

“I need you too,” she whispers back, and she’s never meant it more than she means it now.

It finally snaps.

The intensity of the kiss matches his uncontrolled state, and Sam doesn’t know if she can keep up with the strokes of his lips and tongue in and around her mouth.  Kissing him, when he’s this keyed up, is nothing short of her hottest fantasy, times ten.  She’s laying there, her head on her pillow, her mouth completely open for him as he moves above her, settling gently between her legs because he knows, even in his trance, that her right leg is injured.  His open mouth starts moving languidly around her lips, the intensity dying down just a bit, enough for him to suck her lower lip, then her upper, then move his open mouth around her face, kissing her eyes, each of them, then resuming his open-mouthed perusal of her face, her ears, her neck.  She lets him, her breathing morphed into shallow pants, her hands fisted next to her on the mattress that is made of thick straw.

He kisses his way down her neck and down her body, covered in the white peasant night-shirt, and she raises her head to follow his trajectory when he goes lower than her middle.  Her eyes widen and her heart speeds up because she’s so unsure of his next move, but he bypasses what she thought was his goal, and she admits to herself that she’s a little disappointed.  He goes directly to her leg, the injured one, and lifts the shirt so he can take a look.  Outside, the first signs of life have begun, the birds chirping and a slither of light starts to filter through their window, enough that he moves over, lets some of the light guide him in his purpose.  He unwraps the gauze and Sam lets him, even though she’s not sure they should uncover it yet.  She can see and feel that he needs the reassurance right now, needs confirmation that she’s not infected, isn’t going to die.  Her wounds are clean, and from what he can see with what little light they have, they are red but not angry.  The one on the left even looks smaller than it did yesterday, and she can see how the sight of her injury showing signs of recovery makes him physically better.  His emotions are a completely different story.  She’s not even sure that sex is the answer to his emotional distress, but she’s damned if she isn’t going to try.

He wraps her leg back up, nodding to himself as he does so, and when he climbs back up her body and settles himself again in between her legs, his physicality, the way he carries his body, has completely changed.   He’s confident again, is Colonel O’Neill all over, and Sam is grateful because although she liked seeing a side of him that was soft and weak, she likes this, likes strength, and she needs this side of him as much as the other.

She pulls his face back to hers and kisses him, re-ignites the flame he started, trails her left hand down the front of his body while her right hand holds his head.  He’s been holding himself above her all this time, not wanting to burden her with his weight, but when she sucks his tongue into her mouth and continues to suck and suck, he lowers himself and grinds his hard body into hers.  Her head falls back and she loses suction almost immediately, the feeling of pressure between her thighs a relief to the coil of stress she feels deep in her backbone.  He lowers his head to her neck and thrusts again into her heated middle, the thin nightshirt and his boxers doing nothing to dispel the realness of how hard he is and how wet she’s become.

She moans and all of sudden he’s back on the staircase, watching her rub herself on her knees in front of the window.  The thought alone is capable of making him come.  He bites down hard and nuzzles her face, makes her open her mouth again and he kisses her wildly.  He thrusts one more time and after she makes a sound that is something between a sigh and a cry, she pushes on him, makes him get up enough for her to sit up, take her night shirt completely off over her head.  He can’t focus on everything that is happening at once, and the synapses of his brain must be firing at will, because he can’t even help her loosen the shirt from her arms.  Her breasts are free and beautiful in front of him, her chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths.  She’s completely naked, and with her legs spread he can see everything, all of her, what’s hidden between the mound of hair is glistening deep pink, swollen, ready.  He’s not sure he’s ever seen anything more beautiful in his whole life.

“Sam,” he breathes, and he gathers her, helps lower her back to the mattress.  He kisses her, kisses his way down her neck and stops at the point where the snake nipped at her torso.  The bruise is deep today, green and brown, and he kisses the small indention near her right breast.   He moves an inch and takes her right nipple in his mouth, and Sam feels like she can’t even breathe with the feeling he’s creating inside of her.  The tenderness in which he’s treating her body, the pleasure he’s creating with his kisses and his touches is something she imagined he would do, could do, but was never completely sure until this minute.  He grinds himself again against her and this time, he’s the one to moan.

Sam is panting hard when her nipple pops out of his mouth and she watches as he goes to lower his boxers.

“No!” she cries out, a hand going to stop his movement.  He’s shocked and confused, wondering if he’s hurt her.  He stops his movements immediately and gathers her hand, the one that went to stop him, to his chest with his own, lowers himself again, their hands cradled in between their bodies.

“We can’t,” she breathes out, shaking her head.  “We can’t actually…” she pants, licks her lips. 

He can’t resist lowering his head another inch and licking her lips too.

“Ohh,” she moans her pleasure, trying to compose her explanation.  “We’ll have to do… everything but…”

“Because of birth control,” he finishes for her, understanding completely, adoring the way she can’t keep being who she is, smart, and prepared, and in charge, even here, even now.  He is surprised he hadn’t thought about it himself, how a pregnancy on this planet would be detrimental, how raising a kid in this kind of lonely environment would be akin to madness.

She nods and can see his train of thought.  “My shot is long expired,” she falters on the last word as he grinds against her again.

He kisses her, and the kiss is sloppy in a way that resembles sex, the in and out of tongues and saliva making her wetter in the place that matters.  He shifts a bit and lowers his hand all the way down, cups her and can’t believe how soaked his hand becomes in the instant he touched her.  She moans and bucks at the contact, and the way his body is over hers, twisted so that his hand can reach her core causes her injured leg some pain.  She can’t help the “ow” that escapes her mouth when his body brushes up too closely against her injury.

“I’m sorry,” he says instantly, and he coils his hand away from her, causing his body to lower again and the contact with her injury to resolve itself.  She takes a deep breath and he repeats that he’s sorry.

She stretches her leg flat out and wonders how they are going to do this without causing her pain.  She thinks the dry humping was working fine, that the way he was rubbing his erection against her, even in his boxers, could get them both off in no time.  But then again, she wants more.

He’s staring her straight in the eyes and watching, waiting for her to make a move, any move that will direct what happens next.  She doesn’t know where her boldness is coming from, where her sense of absolute sureness is grounded, she’s just glad it’s made itself manifest for right now.  She doesn’t lose eye contact with him, not for a second, as she firmly grasps his head with both her hands and pushes him down her body until he’s right above the place where her legs spread.  She can tell the movement immediately makes him stiffer, makes him lose the regularity of this breath, but she’s still confident when she raises her injured leg and rests it on his strong, muscled back, knowing it will be safe there, knowing it won’t get hurt right there.

Jack makes a sound deep in his throat, and then he breaks eye contact with her.  He pulls her legs wider, closer to himself, positions himself perfectly, licking his lips and making Sam clench her fingers over and over again in anticipation.  He makes sure her injured leg is safe, that it won’t move with his movements, and when he’s confident of the positioning, he takes both his hands and rakes his fingers through the hairs on her mound, helping to spread her skin as far apart as he can, massaging her, opening her up.  He lowers his face and takes a deep breath and can feel how Sam shudders at watching him appreciate the way her scent makes him feel.  He lowers his lips, finally, and brushes them ever so lightly over her flesh.  Sam can’t help but let her head fall back on her pillow, can’t help when her hands come up to grab at her own hair.  This is a bit like a wild dream to her, and she wonders if she should be the one getting so much benefit from a process that was meant to comfort him.

“We’re supposed to be doing you,” she says, as if he can read her train of thought and understand why she thinks it’s important that he get done, and not her.

“Why?” he mumbles on her, and the way his mouth has to move for him to talk makes her moan.  He licks her, from bottom to top, starting at her opening and ending at the hood that covers her clitoris.  When he gets there, he flattens his tongue and makes her squirm by lapping at her with his tongue on repeat.  He makes the noise of a man that was starving, but has finally found a meal, a feast, and can’t quite control the fierceness of his reaction.  Sam smiles and remembers that he already knew what she tasted like, had licked her finger clean weeks ago, and she feels oddly proud that she can provide him with so much now of what he’s enjoying, and she has no doubt he’s enjoying it.

Without warning, she feels him place a finger at her opening, or maybe it’s two.  He teases her with them for a moment, and she has to let go of her hair to grab at his.  He rewards her by pushing the fingers in, all the way, while sucking her hooded clit into his mouth.  She can’t help the cry that leaves her mouth, and it encourages him to do it again, and again.  She can’t believe they are doing this, can’t believe that this is their first sexual encounter and that she’s not an ounce shy about putting her left leg down on the bed and helping herself out by thrusting up and into his face.  She’s been so aroused since the beginning, she wasn’t far even before he went down on her, and she feels the need to tell him that although she wants to prolong this, her injured leg is beginning to throb, and she needs to get off.

“I’m almost…” she says instead, pushing her hips into his face as he continues to lap at her with his tongue and mouth and pump into her with his fingers, bending them inside of her when he drags them out.  When he hears her, he speeds up, everything, all at once.  She keeps pushing, comes to a point where both her hands grab at his hair and face and push him down into her, adding pressure to the already bubbling point of no return.  She comes, hard, bucking against his face with a cry, letting him finish her, lick at her, enjoys the feel of his fingers inside her as her body contracts, quivers inside. 

When she can open her eyes again, she slowly lowers her leg from his back, and hisses as it throbs in pain.  They really should have waited to do this, waited until she was healed, but she’s not one to complain in the face of so much pleasure.  As soon as her leg is stretched out and moved to the side, she moves a bit, places most of her weight on her left side, on her left butt cheek, and she pulls him up by his armpit, nestling him at the place his mouth just was, leans him onto her good leg.  He wipes his face a bit on the pillow next to her and then kisses her, long and hard and Sam can taste herself and to say it doesn’t arouse her even more is a complete lie.  She lowers her right hand and touches herself with her whole hand, gathers what moisture she can from the sloppy orgasm Jack’s just given her, and then she moves her hand into his boxers before he can think twice about what she’s doing.

He is so hot when her hand finally touches him that she gasps into their kiss and he has to break the contact of their mouths to understand what it is that’s just made sparks fly behind his eyes.  He looks down between their bodies and Sam’s hand is in his boxers, stroking him up and down, building a delicious friction to relieve the pressure he’s been feeling over the past four months, over the past four years.  She’s working him, working the bad dream out of him, showing him that he matters to her, means more than the world to her.

“Move against me,” he hears her say around his ear, the one she’s licking.

His brain command finally connects to his lower body and he begins moving, grinding his pelvis into her body, pushing more to the left to avoid her injured leg.  Her hand is still clasped around him, and he can tell she’s brought over her own juices because the slick feel of her hand on him is something he hopes he’ll never forget.  She’s trying to kiss him but he just can’t right now, it’s all a little too much.    He licks her bottom lip and hopes she understands that when he tucks his head into the crook of her neck, that he just can’t do more than one thing at a time, not right now.

He thrusts harder, faster.  He notices that when her hand reaches the head of his penis, she squeezes lightly.  He doesn’t know if she’s trying to kill him or prolong his pleasure, so he just pumps harder.  He needs to finish, needs to climax, because he’s being rough on her body and he can tell she’s trying to hide the fact that her leg is in some kind of pain.  He’s trusting, trying, and he thinks he’s just about there when Sam finds his ear again, wet from her tongue, and whispers in it, “it’s always you, Jack.  Always, always you.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever had an orgasm this pleasurable that wasn’t inside of a woman before.  He comes all over himself, Sam, and his boxers, and he kisses Sam in a way that tells her exactly how all of that made him feel.  She’s still slightly breathless, and they kiss languidly, until he stops and lets his forehead rest against hers.  They breathe together, enjoy the light that is now spilling into the room from the rising sun.

“Jack,” Sam says finally.

He opens his eyes and stares down at her, but her eyes are still closed, her posture one of total surrender.  “Sam?”

“My leg,” she confesses, needing him to help her.

He climbs off of her and she’s left on the bed, looking completely debauched, naked and unshy, the evidence of Jack’s pleasure painting her stomach in pale white.  She lifts her head a little and looks down at herself, and her lips quirk up just enough to make Jack proud.  He’s done this to her, and somehow the feeling is okay because he knows that she’s totally the one that’s done it to him too.  He brings her two more naproxen pills, and she sits up to take them quickly, chasing them down with some water from her cup. 

“Thank you,” she says to him, watches as he wipes up her stomach with the boxers he’s just taken off of himself.  He’s naked now too, and this is the first she’s seen of him up close.  He’s not aroused, not anymore, and the two of them sitting there, undressed and in a world unpopulated, makes her a little glad that the whole charade is over.  He’s hers now, and she can look all she wants.  He leans in and gives her a tender kiss, pulls back and is glad when she smiles at him.

“What hurts?” he asks her, and she thinks his voice has never carried so much meaning.

“Just my leg,” she says, “I think maybe… I think the snake might have hit bone when she bit me.”

He nods and moves away.  He finds her nightgown and just drapes it over her.  The way he protects her even from himself makes him even more dear to her, and she whispers a thank you to him and watches him put on his pants.  He unravels her bandage, again, and agrees with his previous assessment in the dark that the wounds are, in fact, healing.  He wants to pour more arglaes powder on it, but they only had the one package, so he settles for the antibiotic ointment.  He places a generous amount in each hole and a new gauze over the wound, wrapping it tightly in the bandage again. 

“What else do you need?” he asks when’s he’s done making her leg comfortable on the bed.  He looks at her for an answer and she has so much she wants to tell him that she just stares, her mouth slightly open, her left hand at her breasts holding the nightgown in place.  He notices something is off, and he climbs on the bed next to her and touches her face, kisses her cheek.  “Anything,” he repeats looking at her, “tell me what you need.”

He moves the hair off of her face and loves how sated she looks, not from the night’s rest but from what they’ve just done.  She swallows and he has some idea of what might be going on in her mind, but he’s not so sure.  He decides that perhaps telling her what’s on his could warm her enough to get through until the next day.

“I’m going downstairs, to get you more water to drink and a wet towel for you to… clean off,” he gestures at her lower half, the half that’s wet with their lovemaking.  “Then, I’m going out to our garden, to get some fruit for us to eat right now.  We haven’t eaten anything for almost a whole day, and that naproxen will work better with some food.” She’s watching him intently, clinging to his every word.

“I think we should cook the rabbit today, I can skin it and I’ll bring you down later to help me make a stew with the roots from the farm,” Sam nods, agrees that they need to sacrifice the rabbit they had captured a week ago and had kept caged in the kitchen, for a rainy day.  She’s glad of it now, glad even as her stomach churns with hunger.  “After we eat, we’re going to talk about what’s next, the new plan for hunting, and safety, and what we need to consider now that we know the size and danger of the predators we face.”

“And for getting off this rock,” she adds.

“And for getting off this rock,” he confirms.  “A few days break while you recover might help get a new perspective on the gate and I can keep working on stretching the perimeter, securing the farm, maybe finding more rabbits and trying to breed them here so we have a reserve.”

She’s nodding, and Jack can see that some of the tension and stress he saw in her eyes earlier has started to recede.  One thing Jack O’Neill knows is that everything starts with a plan, and the shift in their relationship was time for a new one.  He comes even closer to her, cups her face again.  “After that, I’m bringing you back up, and making love you to again, in any way I can,” he kisses her lightly, “and we’ll talk and figure out how to navigate this relationship, you and me, Jack and Sam, on equal terms.  No more Colonel, no more Major.”

She closes her eyes and exhales, and Jack knows he’s pinned the right tack.  Her hand comes up and threads into his hair and she looks into his eyes.  “Me and you,” she says.

“Me and you,” he answers, kissing her, “always.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a little lost on this last chapter and 3StarJeneral came up with the plot for this. The dream, the kissing her neck to feel her pulse, the pushing his head down her body... all her. Thanks for letting me take your ideas and put them into my words, Jen. I adore you. xx   
> Amara, thanks for betaing this last minute for me. xo  
> xfchemist, thanks for the AMAZING cover art for this - have you seen it? brilliant!
> 
> This whole fic is written for the girls on the Sam/Jack Fic club on Twitter. You gals make me write smut and I love you for it.
> 
> xoxo
> 
> oh, and this totally finishes the fic, so don't even try to weasel another chapter out of me. *pours glass of wine*


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